Compromise
by Banana Tooth
Summary: My life has become a life of compromises. MacStella.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Compromise

**Author:** Banana Tooth

**Rating:** K

**Classification:** Mac/Stella

**Disclaimer:** I am in no way connected with CBS, the CSI Franchise, or its writers, producers, or directors.

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I'm walking down the hall after leaving Mac's office, scolding myself. _Why didn't you hug him? He needed a hug. _But as usual, I had just set my hand on his arm as I left.

It happens all the time. Whenever I touch his arm or his shoulder, it's a substitute for hugging him tightly, offering him comfort and encouragement when words fail, trying to show him that he's not alone.

Pretty much anything I do around Mac is a substitute for something else, I muse as I scan in the prints I lifted at the scene this morning. He probably wonders about my obsession with his ties, but I know what I really have in mind: when I loosen his tie, it means I want to nuzzle his neck. Mac has the nicest neck of any man I know. I want to kiss it and nibble at it until I find the spot that makes him shudder with pleasure. I know I could.

These prints are taking forever. The trouble with boring tasks is that they give my mind too much opportunity to wander. I think about when I touch his face, an impulse I rarely give in to because he gets all shy and embarrassed. But not so much as if I did what I really want to do: push him against the wall and kiss him until he can't breathe, and keep going until he kisses me back.

And when I loosen his tie _and_ unbutton his collar, it's because I want to rip his shirt right off him, to feel his muscles rippling beneath my hands, to kiss my way down his chest.

This line of thought is not helping. And neither is it going away. I close my eyes and remember the time he slowly slid out of his shirt right in front of me.

And he thought I was looking at the scar.

Note to Mac: Get a clue.

Then, of course, I had felt guilty for thinking like that, when he was injured and Flack was near death. But I really wasn't in control of my thoughts at the time; I was grasping for any distraction to keep from sobbing in relief.

Mac comes in then, putting away his cell phone. "Lindsay says the girlfriend has the same blue substance on her shirt."

I stare at him and have to give my head a little shake before I comprehend what he just said. Mac looks at me curiously. "You okay?"

"Yeah." _This is why you don't daydream in the office. _"That just means she's been in contact with him, doesn't it?"

"Depends on what it is. It might help us find the primary scene."

I've finally finished scanning, and I leave the computer running through AFIS as we start processing the victim's clothes. Or at least _I _start processing. I know without even looking up that he's watching my hair again. It's good to know I'm not the only one who can't keep my mind on my work. Intent on my tape lifts, I lean my head just a little so my hair falls forward, and then tuck it behind my ear. _Might as well give him something to look at_, I reason, and grin inwardly when he swallows and looks back down.

_Stop teasing him_, my inner voice says.

_Why?_ I ask myself. _He's welcome to do whatever he likes about it._

Even the way I wear my hair is a compromise. It would be much more practical to wear it up or pull it back. It would stay out of my way, and be much cooler in the brutal summer heat. But whenever I have it up, I have a fantasy of Mac coming up behind me and setting his lips against the back of my neck, murmuring about lab results or whatever he came to tell me as his lips slide up behind my ear… I'm so easily distracted by this that it's better to just leave my hair down.

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Our shift is finally over. My thoughts continue to race all the way home, and I realize that Frankie was my biggest compromise of all.

I was desperately lonely, Mac was still grieving for Claire, and then I met Frankie at a party. He was exciting, and different from any boyfriend I'd ever had, and he said he loved me. And shortly after that, when Mac seemed ready to move on, he started seeing Rose. So I stayed with Frankie, settling for second best. _And look where it got me_, I think.

_That's not fair_, I tell myself as I take the elevator to my floor. He could have just as easily been a nice guy, like all the other men I've dated, but eventually, like all the others, I would realize it just wasn't working, and we'd break up. It happened every time. Because none of them were Mac.

_This is silly_, I think a little angrily as I unlock my door. If I know what I want, why do I keep settling for something less? Why do I settle at all?

I go into the bathroom and splash my face with cold water. As I look at myself in the mirror, it hits me.

_This is not who I am._

Since when do I accept substitutes instead of going for what I want? I didn't get where I am now by doing that. I could have been like so many of the girls who grow up in the system, ending up on drugs and on welfare, living in poverty, sleeping around just to support a habit. I had made up my mind early on that none of that was going to happen to me. It took backbreaking work and tears and determination, but it was worth it in the end. If something is worth having, it's worth working for.

Mac is definitely worth having.

_So, go for what you want,_ I tell myself. But this time, it's not just about me, it's about two people. I'm not going to throw myself at a man who isn't interested in me. I need to find out if Mac is interested.

_Yeah, whatever, _my inner voice rebels. _I don't notice him staring at Lindsay's hair._

The only way to find out is to ask him. I go to work the next morning with renewed resolve. No more fooling around.


	2. Chapter 2

We're both at work in the layout room. I'm processing a pile of stuff from the scene as I try to figure out my next move. What am I supposed to say, "Mac, I have the hots for you"? That would get his attention, if I said that clear out of the blue.

Or how about, "This is it, Mac. No more pussy-footing around. You, me, my place, seven o'clock." I try to hide my grin at the thought. I'm gutsy, but not stupid.

"Did you see that reporter at the scene this morning?" he asks, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, what was up with her?" She had been a piece of work, to say the least.

"I hate to think what this is going to look like on the news tonight," he grins ruefully.

"Come over and watch it with me." Now that was lame. Asking him over to _watch the news?_ But it must seem non-threatening, because he agrees.

"Okay."

"I'll get pizza," I offer.

He smiles. "It's a deal."

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I stop at Mac's favorite place for pizza and breadsticks, go home, and set out plates and napkins before he comes. He looks tired, I notice as he comes in. As usual, he's been working too hard. I want to hug him.

_Go for what you want_, I remind myself sternly, and I wrap my arms around him. I expect him to give me an awkward sort of half-hug and pull away, but instead he hugs me right back, holding me to him securely. I set my head down on his shoulder and lean against him. This is something else I dream about: coming home to the hard clasp of his arms, his gentle, reassuring presence soothing the tensions of the day.

"Are you all right?" he asks, sounding a little bewildered.

I squeeze him. "I'm better now," I answer.

He gives a startled, embarrassed gasp of laughter, and I think, _Poor guy, it always has scared him to be flirted with._

Our pizza will be getting cold. I reluctantly pull away, and take his hand and lead him to the table. "Come on. I want to talk to you."

We sit down and help ourselves, and our eyes meet over our pizza slices.I wonder,_ Could I have chosen a less romantic food for this conversation?_ I take a deep breath and plunge in. "Do you know why I started seeing Frankie?"

Mac is silent, his eyes encouraging me to go on. "I was lonely," I continue. "I read once that people need someone to love as much as they need to be loved. That's what I was looking for, someone I could love who would love me back."

He nods, his gaze still on my face. I take a moment to chew, because this is the hard part. But I'm not backing down. _Go for what you want._ It's become my mantra.

"Even if it hadn't turned out like it did, I wouldn't have been happy. Because he was just a substitute for what I really wanted."

"What was that?" he asks gently.

"You."

He's frozen in place, pizza halfway to his mouth, staring at me. I'm guessing he wasn't expecting that. I rush on. "I want us to be together, Mac. So I decided I should find out if it's what you want too. But if it's not, I'll shut up about it forever, I promise."

My heart is pounding after this little speech. There's a pause, and I can hear the clock ticking. Then he says, "And if it is?"

I'm speechless. We just sit there for a long moment, grinning at each other foolishly. Then the clock chimes, and I murmur, "The news is coming on."

For some reason, we both laugh at that. We go to the couch and he sits down in the corner while I find the remote, and motions for me to sit next to him. I tuck my legs up and settle into the curve of his shoulder as his arm tightens around me, his cheek against my hair. We watch the story, and then all the rest of the newscast, because I don't want to move.

When it ends, I switch off the TV. He pulls me across his lap, my back against the arm of the couch, and reaches up to trace my face with his fingertips. "I dream about this," he says shyly.

"Watching the news?"

He grins. "Having you with me at the end of the day."

"Funny, I dream the same thing."

He pulls me closer and strokes my hair. I was right—he couldn't leave it alone for long. "So what do we do now?" I ask.

He considers. "Let's take it slow. It's a big step."

I agree. Frankie and I moved way too fast. If I had taken the time, I might have realized what he was before it was too late. Not that I have to worry about that with Mac, but I don't want to scare him off.

So we spend the rest of the evening snuggling on the couch, kissing a little, talking about work. This is the way our conversation will always be, I think, because our lives are all about our jobs. And I don't care. Couples need to talk about what's important to them.

And I'm discovering other things, too. That he likes to cuddle, and that it is possible for him to relax. That he's absolutely fascinated by my hair. And that when he lifts my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist, it raises goosebumps all over me.

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It's late, and we both have to be in early in the morning. I walk him to the door and unlock it for him, and then turn to face him, thinking how cute he is, with drowsy eyes and tousled hair. I lift my hand to his face and kiss him good night. I don't shove him against the wall this time, though. That can wait for later.

We rest a moment, his cheek against mine. "Thanks for dinner," he whispers.

"Thanks for coming," I murmur.

He dips his head and I breathe in sharply as his lips brush the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. He leaves a trail of tiny kisses along my collarbone, agonizingly slow. When he reaches the hollow at the base of my throat, I give a little whimper as a shudder tears through me, my palms pressed flat against the door. My pulse is racing and I can barely breathe.

"Mac!" It comes out as a little squeak. He's laughing, his face against my shoulder. "What happened to taking it slow?"

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry in the least.

I snicker at that, and turn my head so my lips are against his ear. "I'm warning you, next time I'll get my revenge."

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**Author's Note: **Sorry, folks, that's the end. I'll leave Stella's revenge to your imagination. ;-)


End file.
